Yu-Gi-Oh! Fan Fiction ❯ Frost on the Windows ❯ Frost on the Windows ( One-Shot )

Title: Frost on the Windows

Author: Telpei

Rating: R

Pairing: Seto/Yami

Summary: Yami deserts civilization for a winter alone in the Alps in an attempt to inspire his painting.

AN: To think this all started when I was scraping the ice off the car. Thanks, Lomelindi for pushing me to keep this going and for your editing/adjective help!!! *offers naked priest and pharaoh plushies* Also, the ending is kind of sad...*hands out Hello Kitty Kleenex* (I blame the muse).

OoooooooO

Every dawn it was the same. I rose to the glorious sound of silence, a serene calmness filling my heart as my dreams faded from my mind. They were always the same, always of those icy blue eyes that I was sure were watching me from the heavens or some other surreal place while I slept. It comforted me that someone was out there.

My sleepy eyes drifted to the window, and a soft smile touched my lips. The glass was painted from the outside, frost swirling in intricate, artistic patterns. They were always elaborate, complex, involved; always inspiring...but today something was different.

There was a section of the window that had been left untouched; a clear space of glass just small enough for someone to be able to peer into my room. I touched my fingers to the cool, smooth surface and shook my head, berating myself mentally for the paranoia seeping into my thoughts. No one had been watching me.

Again, blue eyes flashed in my memory. I ignored them.

I crawled out of bed, shivering as my bare feet hit the cold wooden floor and wrapping my arms around my torso. I hadn't left enough wood in the fire place last night...my source of heat was long burnt out.

I blew on my hands in search of warmth before I crouched down. A draft gusted underneath my sleeping gown and I shivered in response. I reached out to restore the fire, longing to feel its warmth and hear its crackle when a different sort of chill shot down my spine, stopping me in my tracks.

I stood slowly and turned slower still, my breath catching in my throat. Through the glass, through that one section where there was no frost, icy blue eyes were watching me.

In the next moment they were gone.

I don't know how long I stood still, staring at the window...but eventually I moved, adding wood to the fire to ease the chill from my toes.

Oddly enough, the heat didn't comfort me half as much as it should have.

OoooooooO

Within the next month, my dreams became more vivid, more real. The eyes were all I ever saw of him, but it was enough to inspire me. My paintings grew more wild, always with shades of blue, blue, blue. I felt a link to him (I was sure he was a male, even if I wasn't sure he was human), a link that was stronger than any link I'd felt with any human when I'd lived amongst them.

I had not made a mistake when I'd moved into the mountains alone, leaving the rest of the human race behind me. Despite the protests of my friends, I knew now that this was where I was meant to be. Oh, I missed them horribly...but I knew that this was my fate, my destiny. It was where I belonged. It was where we belonged.

It was impossible to explain how I felt towards him. I only knew by appearance his eyes, and yet I also somehow understood his feelings, his wants, his needs, his very desires. I felt like he was somehow trying to communicate with me while I slept.

I wasn't sure how we were connected. It was a mystery to me, but somehow I was unwilling to attempt to solve it.

All I knew was that we were growing closer, despite our physical separation. I saw his eyes once more in the window, but every day since then one corner of the glass was left untouched by frost.

OoooooooO

For a whole week I had been unable to paint anything. I could only sit in my small cabin and stare at the fire, or out the window, but those deep blue eyes were ever present in my mind. I had begun to fantasize about those eyes, wondering what the rest of his body would look like, wondering if his ears were pointed, and wondering if he had claws for fingers. Somehow a picture formed in my mind, and oddly enough it was a mostly humanoid figure.

For the first time that week I was sitting in front of a clean canvas, a shard of charcoal in my hand, turning the tips of my fingers black. I touched it to the empty space, picturing those beautiful eyes in my mind and I started to draw.

An hour (and many attempts) later, I was disgusted with myself. I just couldn't get the shape right, couldn't capture the intensity, the raw emotion. Charcoal was not working. I needed colour.

But even though I began working with my paints, I failed. His eyes simply could not be transformed into a still image. I was even doubtful that a camera would be able to capture them on film. Discouraged, but not about to give up, I pressed on, skipping his eyes and moving to the rest of him, the image of him I had created in my mind.

Again I turned to the charcoal, eager to get the figure down without worrying about layers of my oil paints. Instead, I was content to sketch his face, his body, his arms and legs - even, no, especially his hands, his fingers.  

Without his eyes, I could not say that I was happy with the final product about an hour later, but I was at least satisfied. I sat back, barely noticing that the fire had died down to mere embers and unaware of the numbness in my fingers.

I looked long and hard at the finished piece of artwork, scrutinizing every detail. Needless to say, I had created a beautiful creature. From carefully shaped feet up long, powerful legs, and into lean hips I had formed the basis of his body. His chest was muscular and strong and his arms were lithe but in no ways weak. His fingers were slender, and I imagined they were soft to the touch, yet demanding at the same time. I could almost feel them on my skin, and my cheeks flushed at the thought, a sudden heat racing through my blood even though the cabin was nearing frigid temperatures. My eyes continued upwards, sliding up his slender neck, his elegant jaw-line, up past his proud cheekbones and slightly pointed nose. His chiseled chin was tilted downwards so that his hair fell in his eyes, hiding my failure. On either side of his head, slightly pointed ears protruded from his thick hair, betraying the fact that he was not entirely human.

My scarlet eyes traveled back down the length of his body, my cheeks flushing again as I examined the drawing. I had left him without clothes, had been unable to hide his beautiful figure from my eyes. I had *needed* to see him. I had been craving this depiction for the past week, and I realized now that this was why I had been unable to paint for all this time.

I was nervous, suddenly, as a familiar chill shot down my spine, and I spun around on my stool, locking eyes with that intense gaze I had been unable to capture. What would he think? I had drawn him, created this image of him, thought of him, and fantasized about him since I had last seen those azure eyes in my window. I shivered, realizing the sudden cold, but unable to move to feed the fire. His eyes had me captured, had me caught. I couldn't escape.

Those deep blue wells flickered to my painting, and I flushed as I detected amusement in his gaze. Angrily, I stepped towards the window but his eyes pinned me in place again. Somehow I knew he was promising me he would be back, promising me he would come back specifically for me, and I was mollified. I gave a short nod, and then he disappeared. With a sigh, I moved to restock the fire, wondering slightly if he could only visit me when it was cold enough, since he only appeared when the embers in the fireplace had lost most of their heat and I could see my breath in the air.

OoooooooO

The next few days passed uneventfully, though I had managed to re-find my inspiration. Again, my paints were kind to me, and I managed to create two pieces of scenic paintings that I could say I was proud of. I was just coming back from a walk in the fresh air, having fully enjoyed the crisp wind and the energy of the mountainside. I entered the cabin, noting that the fire had died down yet again and I immediately felt a rush of anticipation, wondering if he would come, praying that I could just catch one more glimpse of his eyes to work on the painting I'd started of his body.

My heart skipped a beat as I felt a now familiar shiver, and the next thing I knew, he was inside. He was standing there, right beside me, the image of my drawing staring at the canvas I'd left out as if trying to get every last detail right. His body was hazy, unclear, and I realized with a gasp that he was molding himself to the image I had created. The very image I had drawn.

I swallowed dryly as his shape cleared. He ran his fingers down his chest experimentally, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. He turned his eyes on me, and my breath caught in my throat as I stared up at him, my heart pounding madly in my chest. He was...perfect. Absolutely...perfect...

He glanced at the drawing again, and motioned at my failure to capture his intense gaze, and then at his own eyes, and I realized immediately what he was asking. I stammered to come up with some response, shaking my head slowly as I warred with my fogged mind. "I couldn't..." I managed, my voice strained, but he seemed satisfied with that answer for he nodded and looked away.

He was either ignorant of his nakedness or so arrogant in nature that he simply didn't care. As it was, I was unable to take advantage of the situation, and I turned my eyes away from his beautiful form to stare at my drawing as he looked around the cabin.

The being found little that interested him, however, and soon his eyes turned back to me. He reached out with a curious look, brushed his fingers against my cheek to catch my attention, and I shivered instinctively. His touch was so cold...so frigid. Like ice.  And yet...I craved much more; so much more.

"What are you?" I wondered out loud as I stared up at him, and with one intense flash of his eyes, I knew what he was.

He was a spirit, a spirit confined to these mountains. He was as much of an artist as I was; only he didn't create with paints, charcoal, or ink. His tools of creation fell from the skies and were born of cold weather. He would paint with frost and mold with snow, shape with ice and twist emotions with biting winds.

I watched the creature carefully, sympathizing with his loneliness. Oh, I knew the feeling, knew it so well. His heart ached with the emotion, and I could tell that Seto - the name came to me as naturally as anything could ever come, and I liked it instantly - I could tell that he was here to satiate both of our loneliness, and my heart jumped in anxiousness.

Suddenly, I felt the frigidness of the room and I shivered, wrapping my arms around my torso. I knew, however, that I couldn't bring myself to rekindle the fire. I couldn't bring myself to force him to leave, even if I wasn't completely sure that temperature had anything to do with his presence.

Aside from that, I could feel his underlying passion and as I took a shaky breath I realized that he warmed my insides in a way that fire never could. He stepped closer to me and within the next moment, our bodies were pressed together and his hands were in my hair. I licked my lips, letting them fall ever so slightly apart as I tilted my head up to stare into his blue, blue eyes. 

Our lips met and the feeling of it was exquisite. My eyes slipped closed with a soft moan, and his echo shot straight down to my loins. I was amazed at how Seto's touch could be so cold and yet so hot at the same time. My hands slid up his chest, finding an anchor as they grasped his upper arms, and I threw myself into the passion of it all, threw myself into the perfect moment. Somehow I knew that this would be our only time together.

My thoughts drifted away from our inevitable parting, however, as we stumbled over to the bed, tumbling unceremoniously onto the soft mattress. He was so demanding, and I felt myself instantly submitting to his touch, letting his tongue slide past my lips. I realized he was claiming me, claiming me as his, and I moaned again, pulling away from the kiss breathlessly and falling back against the pillows. His lips trailed down my neck and I moaned his name, loving the sound of it as it fell from my lips so easily, so effortlessly. I knew he liked it, too, and I managed a smile as his chest rumbled in a soft chuckle.

He pulled back, however, staring down into my lust-clouded eyes and he cupped my cheeks in his hands. He was asking me a question, and I answered immediately. "Yami," I said softly, tilting my head to the side to press a kiss to his palm. I reached up and placed my hand over his heart. "Seto," I said, moving my hand to my own chest, "Yami."

I was surprised as he shook his head, a smirk tugging at his lips as he touched our foreheads together. "Mine," he growled, and I moaned at the sound of his voice. He was so possessive, so predatorial, I couldn't help but respond. My hips arched against his body, and he growled again, beginning to pull at my clothing. His body may have been new to him, but primitive instinct certainly was not.

Before I knew it, my clothes were gone, scattered about the room, and I didn't mind one bit. My toes and fingers were numb, and the tip of my nose was frozen, but the rest of my body was on fire.

We connected, in more ways than one, and as my raw emotion exploded, his name fell from my lips in a cry of devotion. He followed soon after, that low, arousing growl passing his lips before he claimed mine in another kiss despite both of our breathlessness.

I knew then that I would forever be his, even as I felt his weight lift from my body. I watched as he crossed the room, suddenly shivering uncontrollably with cold. He hissed as he set another two logs on the fire and quickly backed away from the heat, watching for a moment to make sure they caught the flames. With a satisfied grunt, he returned to the bed and pulled the many blankets over my trembling form, dropping one last heated kiss to my lips before his manifested human form disappeared in wisps of thin smoke.

I wondered for only a fraction of a moment if it had all been a dream, if it had all been a creation of my overactive imagination - but I knew almost instantly that he had been real. I knew it in the very beating of my heart.

I stared at the ceiling for a long while as the fire warmed the cabin. I missed him already, and yet I knew I would never see him again. It was time to head back to the city, to go back to my friends. For the moment, however, all I felt was sadness. He had been my inspiration all this time, but I had been left alone in the cabin with only my paints to fill the emptiness of what had been Seto's impressive presence.

OoooooooO

Owari